


Cullen Appreciation

by IntrovertedWife, Space_aged



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Cullen, CAW, Cullen Appreciation, Cullen Appreciation Week, Cute, F/M, First Kiss, Funny, POV Cullen Rutherford, Puppy Piles, Saving the World, Short & Sweet, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 00:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12001338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrovertedWife/pseuds/IntrovertedWife, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_aged/pseuds/Space_aged
Summary: In honor of Cullen Appreciation Week, I've got two adorable stories with everyone's favorite lovable and grumpy Templar.For the first, Cullen stumbles across a terrified Inquisition and he's the only one who can save her.





	1. Brave Ser Cullen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyGoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGoat/gifts), [nlans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nlans/gifts), [kelseyr713](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelseyr713/gifts), [Space_aged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_aged/gifts).



> The adorable picture at the end is drawn by Space_aged. Head over to her [tumblr](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/) to catch other adorable pictures.

A scream rattled up his spine. It was the absolute last thing Cullen expected to hear while trudging up the stairs to the Inquisitor's quarters. Before the final ear rupturing beats of the shriek had time to fade into the air, Cullen broke into a run. Leaping up the stairs two, three at a time, he tried to plan for what mortal peril the Inquisitor could be under.

Assassins? That seemed the most likely. And she never took her weapons to her room no matter how many times he suggested she never go anywhere unarmed. The others laughed off his precautions as overambitious, that Skyhold was secure, but look at where they were now. It wasn't as if she didn't place her life in mortal peril damn near every time she walked out the door! Fingers wrapped around the grip of his sword, though he'd have to wait until reaching the landing to unsheathe it. Foolishly, the others remained fixed upon the papers he intended to deliver to her.

Scattering up the last of the stairs, Cullen rushed into the Inquisitor's room like a mad bull planning to gore whatever was in his way. He snarled, whipping his head about to find no dark shadows lurking in the corners, nor the Inquisitor in a battle for her life. She was perched up on her chair behind the desk, eyes wide in shock. Rather than sitting, it looked as if she leapt straight into the bowing seat and crouched down. Whatever caused her to scream was still holding her attention on the desk. Perhaps a death threat from the Crows or House of Repose?

"Inquisitor?" he began, tipping his head and trying to ease into the room. It felt strange to walk into her private quarters, even if it was the middle of the day and there were no tawdry thoughts in his mind as to why he came. But he went from planning on politely knocking at the first door to running straight into her bedroom proper.

Her head snapped up from the desk to the Commander, her lips trembling in what looked like fear. Cullen's hand wrung tighter to the grip of his sword instinctively. "I heard you scream and...is there a problem?"

She nodded fast and jabbed a finger towards the desk. Confused, but curious, Cullen snuck closer to the piles of parchment. It seemed to be nothing but promissory notes from the various nobles pledging something to assist the Inquisition. The top one that had her so terrified was from a Bann in Ferelden who offered up ten goats and twenty bales of hay. Not much to help an army, but hardly something worth trembling over.

Bending down, he tried to catch her focused eye, when the paper began to move of its own accord. The Inquisitor yelped again, her fingers jammed into her mouth while Cullen slunk back fast from the shock. He searched through what templar skills he had left to see if there were demons or spirits at play, when a shadow darted out from under the paper.

Barely bigger than a raisin, its tiny legs scrabbled to find purchase in the sea of ivory parchment as the creature dashed towards freedom. Which also happened to be right towards the panicking Inquisitor. Releasing the grip on his sword, Cullen swept a hand forward. He snagged an empty mug and, before the tiny attacker had a chance to leap out of the way, trapped it inside a ceramic prison.

"Sweet bloody Maker," the Inquisitor sagged as if she just walked out of a burning Haven all over again.

Cullen had to blink a few moments, assessing the situation to make certain he didn't just imagine it all. "A spider?" he asked with such trepidation, he drug the word out in confusion. The Inquisitor nodded her head and wrapped an arm around herself.

"You were screaming because of a spider?" This didn't make any sense. Was she having a go at him?

But the panic looked real, and she wasn't laughing. Nor did Sera or any of her cohorts leap out of the closet and chortle at his expense. The Inquisitor stopped rubbing her arms and shrugged. "Yes. So what?"

"It's..." he scraped his teeth over his bottom lip, trying to come to terms with the situation. "It's a spider. Not even a big one. Maybe a half an inch long." At even that bare description the Inquisitor shuddered.

"I don't understand. You've killed dragons."

"Dragons don't have eight legs and scuttle about under your clothing or hide in your shoes," she quivered, her eyes shut tight at the idea. When she trembled at the thought, a part of Cullen he assumed long dead urged him to wrap an arm around her. To try and soothe away her fears instead of stir them up.

"Haven," he said instead to distract himself from the thought. "You stood up against Corypheus, saved...saved us all from his dragon."

Her eyes focused in on him and Cullen felt his stomach fall into his toes. "I know, I know. I'm scared of spiders, okay. Always have been with their wriggly legs and many beady eyes and fangs. The big ones I can psych myself up to kill, but the little ones it's like...they're everywhere all the time. And sometimes you can't even see them. Ugh."

Their mighty Inquisitor, a woman with the power to mend the fade, to face down an ancient darkspawn on her own, folded downward. Even when he found her knee deep in the snow, nearly frozen to death and bruised from the fight with a would-be god, she insisted she walk back under her own power. The whole time her spine was straight as if she was unbendable, unbreakable, untouchable. But now...she crumbled from having something so personal unwillingly dragged from her.

"I don't like birds," Cullen said haphazardly. When her head snapped up with a blinding focus, he inched away in shock and concern.

"Birds? Really?"

"They can bombard you from the sky with little recourse," he tried to explain while his stomach burned in shame. Why say that to her? What would she care now or ever that he didn't like birds?

The Inquisitor snickered a moment, "Birds but not spiders?"

Lifting a shoulder, Cullen sighed, "No, I don't mind spiders. Do you wish me to dispose of this one?" He jerked his head towards the mug where the assailant was no doubt literally climbing the walls.

"Don't," she reached a hand out a moment and paused, "don't kill it. I feel bad for killing them just because I don't like 'em." A blush as rosy as dawn broke upon her cheeks as she bashfully folded her neck into her shoulders. It was surprisingly tender and sweet from their indomitable leader.

Cullen moved to lift up the cup when the Inquisitor suddenly shouted, "But don't let it loose in here either." To emphasize her point she slapped both hands over her eyes and squeaked. It was adorable.

And he should not be thinking such things about her. The Inquisitor. The woman in charge.

"I have an idea," he said. Yanking up one of the missives from some pompous twat, Cullen placed the paper right beside the mug. Slowly, aware of the Inquisitor's eyes burning into his neck out of fear of a spider breaking loose, he tugged the mug onto the parchment. When it was secure in the middle, Cullen lifted both off the desk and safely into his hands.

As if he pulled off a magic trick, the Inquisitor clapped her hands. "That's brilliant."

"I," he blushed, both hands holding tight to the spider despite one wishing to rub his neck, "I wouldn't go that far. That demon we keep around, I believe he's collecting spiders for some healing reasons. I'll hand it over to him."

Her eyes were focused on the mug, boring into the ceramic as if she could see through it and the innocent creature trapped inside. Cullen nodded once and began to step back, when he snickered. At the sound, the Inquisitor turned over to him in confusion.

"To think I once served in the templar order, destroyed both abominations and demons in one fell swoop. Now, I am little more than pest control."

He expected her to agree with him, or laugh at the self deprecating joke. The Inquisitor glanced down at the desk now spider free thanks to him, then up to Cullen. Something in her eyes made him freeze in his tracks, his tongue drying to ash.

With a strange quirk to her lips, the Inquisitor slid closer to Cullen. Far closer than had ever been necessary for morning reports or even bumping into each other during meals or passing in the halls. Her eyes darted towards the mug, then back up to his. Cullen was about to question anything he could think of, when her warm lips puckered up against the rough skin of his cheek.

His mouth fell agape from the touch, while the Inquisitor purred, "You're my hero."

  



	2. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a hard day, Cullen slips away to the one place that can help him recharge to begin the fight fresh.

"No."

The moment the word left his lips, he knew how fruitless voicing it was. Shaking her coiffed head, the ambassador clicked the point of her quill against reams of parchment they'd been bitterly arguing over for what felt half the day. While it all seemed beyond frivolous to Cullen, their spymaster was nearly always on Josephine's side to weigh each noble frippery request as serious. Not that those two being in harmony surprised him much, the two often thick as thieves.

Growing up with two sisters had greatly prepared him for such an eventuality, and having two women constantly gang up to veto whatever suggestions he had doubly so. Normally, Cullen would dig his heels in if he thought the matter important, but the last and most important voice always curbed his tongue.

Peering over the war map as if she didn't already command nearly half of it, the Inquisitor sighed, "I agree with Josephine. We best put on a show for the Duke lest he make life harder for our forces stationed near Jadar. Ambassador?" The woman who seemed to flit in and out of the wake of this nausea-inducing Game like a bird darting the clouds was much quicker to side with lady Josephine and the ex-Bard over a grumbling, broken down templar.

While they conversed about the best way to appease an overstuffed peacock in silk frills, Cullen pinched into the bridge of his nose. He couldn't wipe the snarl off his lips if he tried, and after the issues of the morning he saw no reason to attempt it. Minor things really; a broken cup here, a foolish soldier caught cavorting outside of his duties there -- all problems that he should be able to shake off. But they kept building in the back of his brain, forming a great mass until he knew one more problem to land in his lap and the Commander was liable to snap at whatever crossed his path.

In this mood, with the never ending headache setting up square in the back of his jaw, there was a great chance someone would wind up going over the walls. Which, sadly, wouldn't do well for morale.

"Well," the Inquisitor said with a tip of her head, "I think that's enough for today. I'll be heading off to the Western Approach for a few weeks. Do try to not burn the place down while I'm gone."

Leliana snickered a moment and tipped her shadowed head, "We shall endeavor, Inquisitor."

Third to escape from the war room, Cullen sneered at the sunlight breaking through the shattered bricks. Birdsong, rather than the harmonious flute trill it should be, shattered nail after nail into his skull. Trying to wipe away his hatred of all creations in the natural world by shielding his eyes, Cullen paused when he heard the ambassador clear her throat.

"Commander, if we may discuss...?"

"No," he repeated the only word that seemed to exist inside of his narrow vocabulary anymore. Her eyes narrowed at his impolite curtness, everyone unaware how he hung by his fingernails upon the cliff's edge most days.

Racing to take back the sting in his tone, Cullen sighed, "Not...not at this moment, Josephine. I have to get to something first."

"A matter with the troops?" she couldn't let it be, always curious. Like that damn dwarf who'd pry with questions that seemed perfectly crafted to flay off as much skin as possible.

With a steady step, Cullen walked away from the war room and towards the great hall. Behind himself, he added to her, "Something of that kind."

He could sequester himself safe inside the cool walls of his office. No doubt there'd be a good dozen soldiers tramping back and forth but at least they all had to listen to him, even if the click of their heels increased the throbbing in his teeth. But Cullen turned from the path to his sanctuary, growing more certain with every step that there was only one balm to cure him of this foul mood.

Rounding past the kitchens, where the cook barely deigned a glance at the man in armor and bear fur marching around their future dinner, Cullen stepped down the stairs towards the stables. It wasn't the horses he had his mind set on, though riding far from the concerns of a world on edge and the anxiety of looming death sounded tempting. Instead, he walked briskly past the stables, well aware that any person who spotted and recognized him would most likely pull him from his only salvation.

The building was small, barely large enough to fit a few pigs should Skyhold feel the need to raise such. Scrubbing off the heels of her boot stood the master in charge. She smiled at the Commander approaching, perhaps noting the grit in his teeth and the rise of a vein throbbing from the top of his head all the way down to the heel jammed inside a too tight boot.

"Here for another round?" she asked, a hand wrapped around the sun dappled apron cinched tight to her stomach.

"Yes, please," Cullen sputtered, well aware that any excess words could be the death of him.

She snickered a moment and opened the door just a breath. Peering into the darkness within, when the woman glanced back at him she winked, "I think they're ready for you. Ah, might want to take off your boots. It can get a bit messy."

Nodding his thanks, he wedged off his shoes. Despite being dressed in the full armor of his station, for a brief respite Cullen flexed his toes into the soft lull of grass. The winter mountain wind -- as brash as Sera's caw -- faded to a gentle caress, and if he closed his eyes he could almost pretend he was back home. Without the shoes to get in the way, he pushed on the door the woman all but guarded with her life and stepped inside.

Shadows shifted, his eyes burned from the sun struggling to discern the shapes of who slumbered inside. The cracked walls barely formed alcoves, perhaps the building once meant for a sty, but those Fereldens found another use for them. He glanced into one, the straw fully covering its occupant who wasn't in the mood for visitors.

Stepping cautiously, Cullen's eyes hunting the ground for surprises, when he came to the last stall he paused. The smile he kept buried deep inside his soul, the one that couldn't be touched by politics, by fear, by hatred, by death and pain, by Uldred, rose to grace his lips. Five little bodies slumbered in a pile, heads resting upon backs, legs nearly knocking into a brother's or sister's nose. They'd trampled down the straw during their last play session, their mother left to draw up a small towel as her bed while her pups got in the dozen or so naps necessary to grow.

He held his breath intending to watch the grey and tan mabari puppies sleep, when a yellow eye popped open. They all but sensed his arrival. It didn't take long for the entire litter to catch on that an old visitor arrived. The first one, a little boy with a small patch of white on his flank, rose to stubby legs. He proceeded to walk over his siblings, not caring who got in the way, in order to dash head first into Cullen's legs.

The pup wasn't slowed for a moment by the armor, his tiny paws padding back and forth over the top of his bare feet. He was so ecstatic to see Cullen, his little tail was thumping at the beat of a humming bird's wing. Tipping over, Cullen ran his gloved fingers against the pup's back and scooped under his stomach.

By the time he raised the little boy to his face, a scratchy pink tongue lapped all over his cheek. The pup made a little yip of excitement, and Cullen began to laugh from the joy in the dog's sparkling eyes. Something as simple as being cuddled in an arm was causing the dog to wag so much he was shaking Cullen's arm.

Stumbling away from the luster of sleep, the rest of the litter began to rise to see what got their brother so excited. All of the pups who were nearly six weeks old by now began to descend upon the great Commander. Laughing without any pause, without any trepidation curbing his tongue, Cullen tumbled to a knee. This gave all the pups the perfect chance to slather him in kisses. Some leaped onto him from the sides and the back. Everyone wanted to get into his face to show how excited they were to see him.

He never meant for this to become a tradition. The Ferelden man happened past a very pregnant mabari one of his soldiers found and felt it his duty to check on her progress. At a day old, looking more like rats than the mighty dogs they'd become, when the kennel master placed a pup in his palm to hold something changed. He didn't realize how much strain he carried upon his shoulders until this tiny puppy, its eyes not even open, its tail little more than a tremor when it suckled, nestled against his arm.

The pups were often finding that dusty old Commander stomping by. They certainly didn't want for entertainment in a keep surrounded by people who were ecstatic to play with puppies, but the kennel master maintained a tight watch on who could and couldn't see them. Perhaps it was abusing his power to be the only one to break the rules, but as he crumbled to his stomach letting twenty paws climb all over him, Cullen didn't care.

One of the girls, tan fur and a dark set of three lines on her back end, managed to make it all the way up to his shoulders. She dug her paws deep into his fur and, with a tiny growl, started to tear into it. Laughing, Cullen reached back to scoop her off, still fending away another four tongues attempting to lick him clean. The girl wasn't happy about losing her toy, but when he drew his fingers up and down her belly, the tongue lolled out and her eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

Unhooking the surcoat, Cullen lay his fur upon the ground. Without a thought, two of the pups grabbed onto both ends and began to tug. Their snarls were adorable chirps, but they meant them, one day growing into the warriors they were destined to be. But for now, their greatest foe to defeat was that pile of brown hair that smelled of a bent but not broken man.

Scooping two pups into his arm, and another clambering into his lap to find safety there, Cullen reached over towards his coat. The fighting pups paused a moment and looked towards the human who commanded this place. With a quirk of his lip scar, Cullen snatched onto the fur. A growl reverberated from his throat and he shook it for the pups. Both latched on quick, snarling to try to take down this great nemesis and win the game. Unimpressed with the whole thing, the pup in his lap opened her mouth wide in a yawn, then curled up to sleep.

The pressures of life, of the responsibilities he wore every day in an attempt to find restitution couldn't be shrugged off as easily as his coat. But for a few minutes with these puppies, the Commander could wipe his soul clean, put a smile inside his stomach, and be Cullen once again.


End file.
